Love Like Winter
by MangoBones
Summary: It'd been years, but Arnold still thought about him.  Arnold/Frankie G. Hinted Arnold/Sid to clarify: Arnold is 19, Frankie is 29


It was raining, Arnolds hair slicked wet and blonde, framing his face. He'd been waiting out the rain for an hour inside what used to be Mr. Greens butcher shop and was now a deli, but the rain had only grown harder and finally Arnold had given up and began his walk home.

Arnold's sneakers were soaked through, his toes squishing in the mismatched socks and his jeans were heavy, sliding low on his bony hips. The only thing that kept him vaguely warm was the thick, black winter coat he'd gotten as a Christmas gift two years ago. Phil had been so proud, grinning at Arnold as he unwrapped the lumpy parcel and black cloth spilled out onto his lap. Phil usually gave Arnold books or money, a new pair of sneakers. A Winter coat was sure to be useful. Arnold had smiled widely back, pulling it on as he did.

That was before his Grandpa had died.

The sudden sound of a motorcycle roaring around a corner makes Arnold look up sharply.

It had been ten years. Ten years since Frankie G. had befriended Arnold. Ten years since Frankie had forced Arnold head first into a shop with the hopes of robbing it.

Yet Arnold couldn't forget.

For weeks after the event Arnold would think about Frankie, head shooting up whenever he heard the roar of a motorcycle.

It wasn't until Arnold was 13 that he realized he'd had a crush on Frankie.

The memory makes Arnold clench his fist, nails digging into cold flesh. Years later and Arnold was still thinking about him.

The bike comes to a sudden stop, the engine humming, drawing Arnolds attention.  
He feels frozen to the spot as a figure - a man? - in a dark jacket turns the engine off and climbs off the bike.

Arnold knows its ridiculous to imagine it could be him, he knows its even foolish and illogical to HOPE its him but as the man comes steadily closer Arnold can't help the rapid thud of his heart, the way his stomach turns.

"Hey Arnie."

Frankie G smiles his lop-sided smile. His hands are tucked into torn jeans, a leather jacket zipped completely up. Brown hair falls over his face, almost hiding hazel eyes. Frankie stares, unblinking. Arnold feels like his every feature is being studied from his blue eyes rounded with shock, the fading tan left over from summer and the light freckles dotting his nose right down to the rain sliding down his face.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" theres a joke in his tone, a glint to his eyes.

Arnold tries to swallow the shock but his lip still trembles as he tries to speak,

"H-hello Frankie."

Frankie pulls one hand out of the pocket of his jeans and reaches for Arnold,  
brushing back rain slicked blonde hair. His hand is surprisingly warm against Arnolds chilled skin.

"You look different."

Arnold touches the spot where Frankies hand had been and nods slowly. Then his eyes narrow, "Yeah, my heads changed."

Over the years since being 9, Arnolds head has become less and less football-  
like, much to his delight. Being called football head all through Elementary School had gotten old and he'd been pleased when he started to look more..  
normal.

Frankie frowns, faux hurt in his eyes, "Aw Arnie, c'mon. You aren't still mad,  
are you?"

"Still mad?"

Arnold's fists clench, he takes a step back as if distance will help calm his nerves. The rain, continuing to pour down on them, does nothing to cool his hot anger.

"You shoved me head first into a store to help you STEAL. Then when you thought the cops were coming, you ran. You abandoned me! And I thought we were fri-"

Arnold stops himself, a scowl marring his lips, eyes narrowed and downcast.

Frankie touches his cheek, warm fingers stroking the cold skin, "Arnold, I'm sorry." his voice is soft. Soft and gentle enough to sound nothing like Frankie G. Soft enough to make Arnold look up.

"How about I give you a lift home?"

Arnold wants to say no. He wants to tell him to go fuck himself. More than anything he wants to say that and just walk away. But instead he nods and follows Frankie to his parked bike.

Its early Spring. Frankie sits at the table, gnawing on wheat toast in his sleeper pants. Arnold is taking a shower, hoping the hot water will ease the ache in his muscles.

When he gets out and wraps a towel around his hips, he glances at a picture of Gerald sitting on his dresser. Beside him is Phoebe, smiling shyly at the camera.

They'd been best friends once, even through Jr. High Arnold and Gerald had always been together. Highschool found them drifting apart.

While Gerald was busy falling in love with Phoebe, Arnold was alone, joining clubs and trying out for the Baseball team.

When Helga G. Patacki killed herself, Arnold seemed to take it the hardest.  
He sunk into himself until no one could pull him out - not that anyone tried very hard.

After graduation, Gerald and Phoebe moved to San Francisco. They sent letters every so often and sometimes Arnold saw Gerald on television, enthusiastically giving the morning news.

In the last 4 and a half months, Arnold has only gotten one letter from his happily newlywed friend. He'd sent two in return, but hadn't mentioned his relationship with Frankie. Part of him was afraid to hear Geralds warnings, afraid he wouldn't listen to the same things Gerald had said 10 years ago.

Or maybe he was afraid he would listen, tell Frankie to leave.

He thinks about Frankie, his warm hands and warmer eyes, the way his hair falls into his face and his rough laugh. Arnold smiles despite himself and walks out of the room just in time to see Frankie, dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater, heading for the door.

He frowns, one hand holding the knot of his towel, "Where are you going, Frankie?"

Frankie hesitates, like being caught doing something he hadn't meant to be caught doing, "Aw.." he turns, a smile already starting at the corners of his mouth. Arnold remembers that smile, the one meant to distract him, make him forget. The one with nothing behind it.

"Just heading out to do some errands Arnie, I'll be back soon."

Arnold scowls.

"You're lying."

Frankie laughs but theres no warmth behind the sound, no actual humour. His hand falls away from the door knob and he walks slowly toward Arnold,

"I'll be back soon, I promise."

He leans down and Arnold wants to push him away but his eyes lower and Frankie's mouth is hot on his own.

Frankies gone before Arnold opens his eyes.

Frankie doesn't come back until Midnight. He opens the door quietly and looks around. Arnold is asleep on the couch, legs curled in and long hair curtaining the sided of his face. The tv is on low, the remote cradled in Arnolds hand.

Frankie puts his backpack on the ground, eyes on Arnolds sleeping form. Then he covers him with the blanket folded over the back of the couch and heads to bed.

They don't talk about it in the morning.

Its Summer and the air is heavy and sticky with heat. Arnold's cranky when its especially hot, he always has been. A cool towel rests over the beck of his neck and his head is pillowed lazily on Frankie's shoulder.

Almost a year and Arnold still hasn't told anyone about them. He's starting to think it doesn't matter, though. Gerald only writes every few months and his letters are always about Phoebe and his career. He never asks anyway.

Frankie grunts at something on the tv, breaking Arnold from his lazy thoughts.

"Mmm?" His eyes, half closed, flicker up to Frankie.

Frankie shakes his head and nudges Arnold off him, "Gotta make a phone call kiddo, be back."

Arnold watches him disappear into the bedroom and frowns. He hated when Frankie called him that.

A raised voice makes him stand up, blue eyes wide. The wood is mostly closed,  
only a crack revealing a dark room and Frankie's bare back. He steps quietly,  
ignoring the feeling of guilt that comes with eavesdropping.

"I TOLD you I'd have it by Wednesday, get off my back Tom."

Arnold cringes, the sound of Frankie's raised voice making his heart hammer nervously.

He wonders what Frankie's talking about. Have what?

"You'll owe me double if you don't knock off that tone. I'm the one with the shit, to remember that."

Arnold hears a cell phone snap shut and he runs back to the couch.

Frankie says nothing as he lays back down, his hand going to Arnolds hair.

"What was that about?" Arnold tries to keep his tone light and curious rather than nosey but Frankie tenses anyway.

"Nothin'. Don't worry about it."

Arnold frowns.

"But I heard you yelling.."

"I SAID don't worry about it."

Arnold winces but says nothing more.

Its Fall. Orange and yellow leaves blanket the ground outside like snow. Arnold remembers he used to love Fall, raking up the leaves and falling backwards into the piles with Gerald and sometimes Sid and Stinky. The memory still makes him smile.

Fall is for Halloween, candy filling the ailes and polyester costumes lining the shelves at super markets. It smells like pumpkin and warmth in Arnolds apartment. Frankie complains about the sticky smell of pumpkin pie but Arnold continues to light the big, round orange candles anyway.

He thinks its less than a fair trade anyway. Every few days Frankie disappears for a few hours and every few weeks he disappears all night, sometimes days at a time. But Arnold tries not to think about that - talking about it makes Frankie angry. Sometimes he leaves, slamming the door behind him. When he comes back, he always cradles Arnold in his arms and kisses him. It almost makes up for it and it certainly makes Arnold more inclined to pretend nothing happened at all.

Arnold's arranging roses on the kitchen table. Maidene now works there and it always pleases Arnold when he has a reason to buy flowers. At least ONE of the old shops still ran in his town, and at least its a chance to see a familiar face that he still spoke to.

Frankie comes out of the bathroom humming to himself, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Arnold tenses, eyeing him.

"Goin' out." Is all Frankie says, a grin on his lips, before he reaches for the door knob.

"no!" Arnold almost yells. It was supposed to be their day together.  
They were going to go shopping for Halloween candy and fill up black plastic cauldrons and orange pumpkins for the children.

Frankie frowns, "No?"

"No- I mean you said we'd-"

"Arnie.." Frankie smiles that smile again, the one meant to charm him. Frankie had always been a charmer.

"I've got things to do. I'll be back soon."

Arnold scowls and walks around the table and into the living room, "No. You always say that and you never mean it. Fucking stay here for once. Tell your friends you're busy with your boyfriend."

Frankie's smile flickers, "Arnie I've got shit to do that doesn't involve you."

"Nothing ever does! Why don't you just-"

Frankie grabs the front of Arnolds red sweater and pulls him forward, crashing their mouths together. Arnold can feel a bite of teeth, clumbsily nibbling at his lower lip before he can adjust to the kiss, tilt his head into it.

"Frankie" Arnold tries to pull away, sucking in air as he does, "I mean it, dont-"

Before he can finish, Frankie's pushing him against the wall, his warm hands sliding up Arnolds shirt, short nails sliding down Arnold's stomach and his teeth nibbling at his lower lip.

Frankie's mouth brushes down Arnolds neck and just like that he'd distracted.

Arnold can barely register himself being hoisted up against the wall and his legs seem to wrap automatically around Frankie's hips. Warm fingers grip his hips and the slow grind igniting hot friction wipes Arnold's mind blank.

Frankie leaves Arnold asleep, naked beneath a thin white blanket on the couch.  
He doesn't return until 3am.

The first day of December has yet to bring snow, but a lot of rain. Arnold can hear it pounding on the windows. The fireplace does little to warm him.

Frankie's been gone for two days. Arnold has two slices of chocolate cake waiting in the fridge and wine glasses set out for sparkling cider. But Frankie is still gone and Arnold isn't sure he'll be back in time for the celebration.

Its been a year since Frankie found him in the rain. A year of Frankie living there.

Arnold hugs his legs close to his chest, feeling small and cold and very alone.

Then the door opens and Arnold turns to see Frankie coming in, hair stuck to his face and his backpack half open against his chest.

"Arnie!" He exclaims, eyes too bright like fireflies.

Arnold stands slowly, frowning, "Frankie?" He looks strange, different, but he tries to ignore it. "You're..late." Really late. But he doesn't mention that.

Frankie laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat. "Late for what?"

"Our.." Arnold's face feels hot. He suddenly feels stupid, like a child. He feels like he did that day when Frankie had stopped Harold from punching him.

"Nothing." Arnold mutters, looking up through his lashes at Frankie.

Through the open zipper of Frankie's pack, Arnold can see ziplock bags of white powder and something that looks vaugely like dried grass.

And suddenly Arnold feels all too much like the child he once was.

"Thats.. why you always leave." Frankie follows Arnolds gaze to the open zipper and curses under his breath, "Shit" before zipping the pack up hastily.

Frankie's smile is shaky, "Arnie look, I'm just-"

"Thats why you're here.. thats why you.." Arnold looks up suddenly, his eyes sharp and hot like fire.

Frankie takes a step toward Arnold, but Arnold recoils, backing away.

He gets it. Suddenly he knows. He remembers Frankie kisses, his touches, like ice. Always there to distract him. Always there to make Arnold forget.

Frankie had always been a charmer.

"Get out" Arnold's voice is low and hot with anger.

Frankie closes the distance between them as he tries to stutter out an excuse.

"Arnold, wait. You don't understand.. I was just..I needed to.."

Arnold glares at him as Frankie touches his arm. He snatches himself away from the light touch, lip curling.

"Get out!"

Frankie growls. Quick as a cat he grips Arnolds wrists in his fists, making Arnold gasp; half surprised and half in pain.

"You're-hurting-me"

Frankie's grip tightens, his lips pulling up over his teeth like a dog.

Arnold remembers Frankie's violent temper, the way he'd shoved Arnold through the window.

"Frankie-let go."

Frankie doesn't move for a moment, his heavy breathing hot against Arnolds cheek.

Then he releases his grip with a snort and backs away to the door. Arnold watches him, eyes wide and cautious. Frankie shifts his backpack onto his back.

"You don't want me to leave." He says slowly, his lips quirking.

Arnold snarls, "You're wrong. I'm done with you.. get out and don't ever come back."

Frankie's hazel eyes widen in shock, then a blank look over comes him.

"Fine."

And just like that, he's gone.

Arnold sinks down against the floor, back against the cold wall as tears slide fast and hot down his face.

For two hours Arnold cries, pulling at the carpet until his nails crack.

A month passes and Frankie doesn't come back. Arnold finds he no longer expects him to. For the first two weeks of his absense, he'd expected Frankie to walk through his door, a smile on his lips and a laugh in his throat. But true to his word, Frankie never did come back.

The snow has all melted with the rain from the previous night. There are still large water spots on the roads and puddles on the side walks. Arnold passes closed shops and bars until a familar face makes him stop.

Leaning against a wall beside a vintage clothing shop is Sid. Long hair frames his face, long dark lashes a contrast to his pale skin. One hand is tucked into the pocket of his black jeans and his boots - black combat - are slightly scruffy. Early morning sunlight shines on his vinyl jacket.

"Arnold?" his voice has lost the high pitched edge, now deeper and rough like sandpaper.

"Sid." Arnold smiles at his old friend.

"What're you here for?"

Sid had left two years ago to live in another city. With all his family gone and Stinky back in Texas, Sid had left.

Sid shrugs his small shoulders. He's tall, but still lean, "Missed it." He smiles slightly, ducking his head.

Arnold looks around and nods, knowing he'd miss it too. He slips his hand into his pocket and finds something there, soft and long. A cigarette - the last remaining essence of Frankie in his life. He pulls it out and holds it out to Sid, "Smoke?"

"Just quit actually."

Arnold looks at the cigarette thoughtfully, considering the white paper and brown end. Then he shrugs and drops it into a puddle.

Then he looks back at Sid - in highschool Sid had still been short. His hair always tucked beneath a beanie. He'd been quieter than in Jr High, but always had the loudest laugh. He'd been at Helga's funeral.

Now he was pretty, a quiet calm surrounding him. Arnold could still see the child in the beetle-boots within the green eyed adult.

"Care to get some hot chocolate with me?"

Arnold smiles tentatively, playing with the loose thread in his fingerless black glove.

Sid grins, "Hell yeah! I love hot chocolate!"

Arnold laughs softly as Sid pushes himself off the wall and joins his side.

Together they head toward the cafe near the flower shop, Sid chatting about hot chocolate and Arnold listening intently, happy for the familiarity of old friends. Happy for Sid being back, there and warm and smiling beside him. 


End file.
